The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole

“About!—about nothing.”

“Huk! about Nort Pole—nothing,” murmured Chingatok—his thoughts diverted by the word.

“No, it is worse than Nort Pole, worse than nothing,” returned the chief sternly; “it is a small island—very small—so small that a seal would not have it for a breathing-place. Nothing on it; no moss, no grass. Birds won’t stay there—only fly over it and wink with contempt. Yet Grabantak says he must have it—it is within the bounds of his land!”

“Well, let him have it, if it be so worthless,” said Chingatok, mildly.

“Let him have it!” shouted the chief, starting up with such violence as to overturn the cooking-lamp—to which he paid no regard whatever—and striding about the small hut savagely, “no, never! I will fight him to the last gasp; kill all his men; slay his women; drown his children; level his huts; burn up his meat—”

Amalatok paused and glared, apparently uncertain about the propriety of wasting good meat. The pause gave his wrath time to cool.

“At all events,” he continued, sitting down again and wrenching off another rib, “we must call a council and have a talk, for we may expect him soon. When you arrived we took you for our enemies.”

“And you were ready for us,” said Chingatok, with an approving smile.

“Huk!” returned the chief with a responsive nod. “Go, Chingatok, call a council of my braves for to—night, and see that these miserable starving Kablunets have enough of blubber wherewith to stuff themselves.”

Our giant did not deem it worth while to explain to his rather petulant father that the Englishmen were the reverse of starving, but he felt the importance of raising them in the old chief’s opinion without delay, and took measures accordingly.

“Blackbeard,” he said, entering the Captain’s hut and sitting down with a troubled air, “my father does not think much of you. Tell him that, Unders.”

“I understand you well enough, Chingatok; go on, and let me know why the old man does not think well of me.”

“He thinks you are a fool,” returned the plain spoken Eskimo.

“H’m! I’m not altogether surprised at that, lad. I’ve sometimes thought so myself. Well, I suppose you’ve come to give me some good advice to make me wiser—eh! Chingatok?”

“Yes, that is what I come for. Do what I tell you, and my father will begin to think you wise.”

“Ah, yes, the old story,” remarked Benjy, who was an amused listener—for his father translated in a low tone for the benefit of his companions as the conversation proceeded—“the same here as everywhere—Do as I tell you and all will be well!”

“Hold your tongue, Ben,” whispered Alf.

“Well, what am I to do?” asked the Captain.

“Invite my father to a feast,” said Chingatok eagerly, “and me too, and my mother too; also my wife, and some of the braves with their wives. And you must give us biskit an’—what do you call that brown stuff?”

“Coffee,” suggested the Captain.

“Yes, cuffy, also tee, and shoogre, and seal st– ate—what?”

“Steak—eh?”

“Yes, stik, and cook them all in the strange lamp. You must ask us to see the feast cooked, and then we will eat it.”

It will be observed that when Chingatok interpolated English words in his discourse his pronunciation was not perfect.

“Well, you are the coolest fellow I’ve met with for many a day! To order a feast, invite yourself to it, name the rest of the company, as well as the victuals, and insist on seeing the cooking of the same,” said the Captain in English; then, in Eskimo,—“Well, Chingatok, I will do as you wish. When would you like supper?”

“Now,” replied the giant, with decision.

“You hear, Butterface,” said the Captain when he had translated, “go to work and get your pots and pans ready. See that you put your best foot foremost. It will be a turning-point, this feast, I see.”

Need we say that the feast was a great success? The wives, highly pleased at the attention paid them by the strangers, were won over at once. The whole party, when assembled in the hut, watched with the most indescribable astonishment the proceedings of the negro—himself a living miracle—as he manipulated a machine which, in separate compartments, cooked steaks and boiled tea, coffee, or anything else, by means of a spirit lamp in a few minutes. On first tasting the hot liquids they looked at each other suspiciously; then as the sugar tickled their palates, they smiled, tilted their pannikins, drained them to the dregs, and asked for more!

The feast lasted long, and was highly appreciated. When the company retired—which did not happen until the Captain declared he had nothing more to give them, and turned the cooking apparatus upside down to prove what he said—there was not a man or woman among them who did not hold and even loudly assert that the Kablunets were wise men.

After the feast the council of war was held and the strangers were allowed to be present. There was a great deal of talk—probably some of it was not much to the point, but there was no interruption or undignified confusion. There was a peace-party, of course, and a war-party, but the latter prevailed. It too often does so in human affairs. Chingatok was understood to favour the peace-party, but as his sire was on the other side, respect kept him tongue-tied.

“These Eskimos reverence age and are respectful to women,” whispered Leo to Alf, “so we may not call them savages.”

The old chief spoke last, summing up the arguments, as it were, on both sides, and giving his reasons for favouring war.

“The island is of no use,” he said; “it is not worth a seal’s nose, yet Grabantak wishes to tear it from us—us who have possessed it since the forgotten times. Why is this? because he wishes to insult us,” (“huk!” from the audience). “Shall we submit to insult? shall we sit down like frightened birds and see the black-livered cormorant steal what is ours? shall the courage of the Poloes be questioned by all the surrounding tribes? Never! while we have knives in our boots and spears in our hands. We will fight till we conquer or till we are all dead—till our wives are husbandless and our children fatherless, and all our stores of meat and oil are gone!” (“huk! huk!”) “Then shall it be said by surrounding tribes, ‘Behold! how brave were the Poloes! they died and left their wives and little children to perish, or mourn in slavery, rather than submit to insult!’”

The “huks” that greeted the conclusion of the speech were so loud and numerous that the unfortunate peace-makers were forced to hide their diminished heads.

Thus did Amalatok resolve to go to war for “worse than Nort Pole—for nothing”—rather than submit to insult![2 - It may not be inappropriate here to point out that Eskimo savages are sometimes equalled, if not surpassed, in this respect, by civilised and even Christian nations.]

Chapter Seventeen.

The Effect of Persuasion on Diverse Characters

The warlike tendencies of Grabantak, the northern savage, had the effect of compelling Captain Vane and his party to delay for a considerable time their efforts to reach the Pole. This was all the more distressing that they had by that time approached so very near to it. A carefully made observation placed the island of Poloe in latitude 88 degrees 30 minutes 10 seconds, about 90 geographical, or 104 English statute miles from the Pole.

There was no help for it, however. To have ventured on Grabantak’s territory while war was impending would have been to court destruction. Captain Vane saw therefore that the only way of advancing his own cause was to promote peace between the tribes. With a view to this he sought an interview with the old chief Amalatok.

“Why do you wish to go to war?” he asked.

“I do not wish to go to war,” answered the chief, frowning fiercely.

“Why do you go then?” said the Captain in a soothing tone, for he was very anxious not to rouse the chief’s anger; but he was unsuccessful, for the question seemed to set the old man on fire. He started up, grinding his teeth and striding about his hut, knocking over pots, oil cans, and cooking-lamps somewhat like that famous bull which got into a china shop. Finding the space too small for him he suddenly dropped on his knees, crept through the low entrance, sprang up, and began to stride about more comfortably.

The open air calmed him a little. He ceased to grind his teeth, and stopping in front of the Captain, who had followed him, said in a low growl, “Do you think I will submit to insult?”

“Some men have occasionally done so with advantage,” answered the Captain.

“Kablunets may do so, Eskimos never!” returned the old man, resuming his hurried walk to and fro, and the grinding of his teeth again.

“If Amalatok were to kill all his enemies—all the men, women and children,” said the Captain, raising a fierce gleam of satisfaction in the old man’s face at the mere suggestion, “and if he were to knock down all their huts, and burn up all their kayaks and oomiaks, the insult would still remain, because an insult can only be wiped out by one’s enemy confessing his sin and repenting.”

For a few seconds Amalatok stood silent; his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were puzzled.

“The white man is right,” he said at length, “but if I killed them all I should be avenged.”

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” leaped naturally to the Captain’s mind; but, reflecting that the man before him was a heathen who would not admit the value of the quotation, he paused a moment or two.

“And what,” he then said, “if Grabantak should kill Amalatok and all his men, and carry away the women and children into slavery, would the insult be wiped out in that case? Would it not rather be deepened?”